


Better (starting new)

by orphan_account



Series: Start all over again [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, M/M, New Years, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:01:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was no synonym for this moment. There was no way to paraphrase waking up next to Stiles Stilinski on New Year's day, no plans at all, a pound of fresh coffee beans on the kitchen counter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better (starting new)

**Author's Note:**

> A coda for the two characters still kicking around in my head.
> 
> I'd recommend reading 'Things are gonna change' first.

Next year was now. 

Derek woke with a pang of mild panic at the idea, because it was simpler-- no, not simpler, just-- safer. To stay hoping, wishing, and looking forward to, circling something great from a distance. To want Stiles from arm's length away. 

The broad horizon of now, the blank space of arrival at the place that he had been dying to be was daunting and exposed.

He rolled over gently, softly, so softly, to look at Stiles without waking him, to see if maybe his sleeping face held some reassurance, but there was no mystical answer in his expression. Stiles' mouth was open, lips slightly chapped. His chest moved slowly with even breaths.

There was so certainty or safety here, Derek acknowledged. But there could be joy, he thought, no matter how fleeting it might prove to be. Every part of Stiles, every detail-- his eyebrows, his jerking laugh-- made Derek elated, ecstatic. Derek could hardly believe that he was real, felt stunned that someone as delicate and complex as Stiles was even alive, had blood pumping through his veins, was sleeping in Derek's bed. It made Derek acutely aware of his body, his own firm heartbeat.

There was no synonym for this moment. There was no way to paraphrase waking up next to Stiles Stilinski on New Year's day, no plans at all, a pound of fresh coffee beans on the kitchen counter.

After a few moments, Stiles began to stir and wake himself. Derek wasn't ashamed to watch, just stared affectionately as Stiles blinked into consciousness. He smiled sleepily and reached out a hand to graze against Derek's, dragging his knuckles across Derek's fingertips. They stared at each other for a long, easy moment until Stiles yawned, a giant, indulgent thing. His body was an orchestra, alternately clanging and smooth. Derek moved his hand to grip Stiles', tight, and took a breath before speaking.

“I wrote you an email, a while back,” he began. Stiles raised his eyebrows in interest and smiled sleepily, encouraging. 

“It said that we're gonna fuck up, basically,” Derek laughed nervously, “and I know that everyone says that at the beginning of-- of something. 'This will be hard,' or, 'relationships are the hardest thing,' or whatever. But, Stiles, if we do this... ” he trailed off, unsure of what to say next. He couldn't look Stiles in the eye.

“I'm gonna have bad days. Weeks, sometimes. Where I'm not-- I won't seem like myself. And it's scary. It scares me, and it scares my family, and it's not cute, and I won't be--” Derek forced himself to stop, close his eyes, take a breath. He counted to three and then laughed a little, again, felt naked and inarticulate.

“It's really hard to love someone who's depressed,” Stiles gave him a sad smile, “and it's sure as hell hard to be loved when you're depressed. And you, you're-- you're gonna do something, feel something, that makes you question yourself. Stiles,” he propped himself up on an elbow so that he could speak more clearly, “I'm so proud of you. You have no idea how amazing you've been, what you've done, but I'm worried you'll forget that sometime. I'm going to be sad and hard to love, and you're going to forget that that has nothing to do with how wonderful you are. I'll try to remind you, but you'll forget how good you are and you'll scare the shit out of yourself.”

Stiles' face was somber and he inhaled a long, rattling breath. His eyes were shining with tears and it made Derek feel such a searing pain that he could hardly continue. 

“But I can't imagine,” he whispered, voice rough with the effort to stay composed, “I cannot even fathom a version of this world in which I don't spend as much time with you as I can. You fascinate me and make me happy, and you make me think, and every time I see something interesting I want to tell you about it, or, or, or-- ask you about it. See what you think.” 

Tears were streaming from Stiles eyes now, but Derek felt his voice grow stronger, more certain. He scooted closer, took his hand out of Stiles' to cup his cheek. 

“If I get hit by a truck next week, or if I live to be 90, either way, I'm going to get to the end of this life and kick myself for not spending more time with you. Sometimes, when I walk away from you,” he whispered, “just when we say goodbye, it makes my heart hurt. It's like a physical ache. I hate, I really fucking hate, walking away from you. So I don't want to do it anymore. And I just had to say all of that first.”

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles' waist, then, and pulled him in close, pressed against him like he'd wanted to for months and felt the length of his body, hard and soft at once. Clanging and smooth. He fit his nose into Stiles' cheek and pressed his lips against skin, seeking, seeking... until then his tongue was in Stiles' mouth and he could feel the wet fabric of Stiles' boxers dragging across his thigh. Stiles' hands grasped him tightly, almost painfully, and his mouth was all messy moans and open lips, sudden gasping breaths. 

Derek felt useless, passive, pulled away in an undertow. He was so turned on that he felt out of his mind, shaky and addled. He said as much, pulling his face away from Stiles' abruptly, before he could lose the plot entirely. “I'm-- I'm--” he closed his eyes briefly. “I'm sorry, I'm so useless, I can't think, I can't--”

Stiles let out whisper of a laugh. “No I know, you're so-- I can't--”

“-- think,” Derek finished. Stiles' eyes were sparkling with tears and the strangeness of it, the mixture of sadness and joy, made Derek laugh back helplessly, a delighted noise that startled him even as it left his mouth. “I can't fucking think,” he repeated, feeling stupid.

“I don't want-- to walk away either,” Stiles whispered into his cheek. His hands were moving up and down Derek's back, now, hips rocking slightly. “I hate saying goodbye to you, every time.”

“I like being around you more than fucking anything,” Derek confessed.

“I like being around you more than fucking anything, too.”

Derek felt a reckless sort of joy rip through him, and he kissed Stiles soundly, smiling and pressing forward and running his tongue over Stiles' bottom lip. He wanted to go outside, put his toes in the dirt, run in the sun.

It was probably still snowing out, he thought. The streets were full of dirty slush and the sidewalks were icy and slick. 

He pulled away from Stiles one last time. “I think this is gonna be a really good year. A better year.”

“Better,” Stiles agreed. “I think we'll be better.”


End file.
